


Buried

by evrymeeveryyou



Category: Cainsville
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-21 01:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evrymeeveryyou/pseuds/evrymeeveryyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone wants to ruin Gabriel Walsh. Fortunately, they haven’t figured out the best way to accomplish that...yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Game is Afoot

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Olivia, Ricky, Rose, or anybody from Cainsville...and although I wish I owned Gabriel, I can not take credit for that either. All belong to the great Kelley Armstrong, at whose feet, I worship. I’m just playing with these characters and I promise to put them back where I found them.
> 
> Spoilers: This takes place after the latest Cainsville book, Visions, and will probably be completely nullified when Ms. Armstrong releases the next book, so spoilers to Visions. 
> 
> Author’s Note: I have no idea what I am doing here. I was supposed to have sworn off fanfiction in favor of my real world writing pursuits YEARS ago. So what is this?! I don’t know. This guy’s voice wouldn’t leave my head.

I am suffocating. I swear it.

I glance around the empty stretch of land. I am a pawn, sent here because I was supposed to be, and I have no idea what that can mean but, for perhaps the first time, my lack of questions has nothing to do with the compulsion of the Elders, and everything to do with the one thing I am looking for but can not see. 

I do not have time for questions. I need to find her. 

When my phone rings, I nearly fumble it. The last few days have done nothing but fray my nerves as, I suppose, they were designed to do, to leave me dancing on the edge, with no idea of who I am or what I believe. 

I glance at the screen and the sense of relief is all-encompassing. A more dramatic man would fall to their knees. I just breathe a sigh and answer. “Olivia? Where are you?”

There is a muffled sound on the other end of the line. A crackle. She is trying to say something, but the connection keeps cutting in and out and her voice is vague and garbled.

“Olivia, I can’t hear you. I need you to tell me - I was told I could find you by the gargoyle the town made for me. Are you here? Dial any button - once for yes, twice for no.”  
One beep.

“I don’t see you. Are you hiding? Is it too dangerous to speak? Are you injured?” I hear the panic rising in my voice. I wince. This is exactly what he wants. I’m giving him exactly what he wants and…

...I don’t care.

The connection goes dead. I look down at the phone just as a text message arrives. It’s Olivia. 

“Look down.”

I do. And that’s when it clicks. 

Somewhere in this large expanse of land, buried under the rain drenched soil, is Olivia. And I have no idea how I will find her in time. 

Another text message.

“I’m sorry.”

I am suffocating. And if I can’t get to her soon, so is she. 

*****

Three Days Earlier

I wake to the muffled sound of argument. My head feels padded in cotton. I want to call attention to the fact that I am awake, but my body will not cooperate. The sounds of heated conversation spin around me and only one voice breaks through the thick mist. 

“I want a full investigation.” Olivia.

My eyes blink open. Once. They stick when they close again. Twice. White. White is all I see. 

“I want to nail the bastard that did this to him to the wall.” Olivia again. And she is angry. 

“What I want to understand is how this made it to the media at all.” Another voice, a man. The voice is familiar, but...not. “Nobody in the room believed that crime scene set up for a single second. So how did that headline end up in the Post?”

Detective Fuentes?  
I launch myself up into a seated position, suddenly very, very awake. A pinch in my hand calls my attention to the IV in my arm. A hospital. What the hell happened?

“Gabriel.” Olivia slides right into my line of sight. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” I rasp, impatiently. And then my head rebels and it feels like everything inside of me rushes there and though I wince, and I do not look fine, that I know for sure, I manage not to grip my head and fall over which is very much what I would like to do.

“Yep. You look great.” I pinch an eye open to look at her. Her lips are curved in a teasing smile. Her eyes tell a different story.

“What happened?” Not asking. Demanding. 

“I’ll explain in a minute.” She pats my hand, gently, but her eyes go stern. There is a silent communication there. Don’t speak, Gabriel. Don’t say a word. Usually, I’m the one leading her. 

I’m still wondering why she’s talking to me. Why she’s here. The last thing I remember…

“I said YOU could stay here. I never said you could bring HIM --”  
“I didn’t bring him. He showed up. I wasn’t going to invite him in. You never even gave me a chance to handle --”  
“Go handle it, Olivia.”  
“I will. I just want to make sure...I know this is an invasion of privacy, and I didn’t ask for Ricky to show up.”  
“This whole thing is an invasion of privacy. I never should have asked you to--”

And then she was packing her things. Because I made a mistake. Again. 

I just wanted to see her look at the view and forget, for just a moment, that she had someone else she would rather see it with. 

She is still talking to Agent Fuentes. I suppose I should be listening.

“I’ll investigate the leak as well,” Agent Fuentes says. “Whoever staged him this way wanted him in the papers. So one can assume…”

“Trace the leak, find the attempted murderer.”

Fuentes makes a noise low in his throat. “You know, Ms. Jones, when we last met, you seemed nervous in Gabriel’s presence. Now you’re working for him?”

Right. The last time we saw Fuentes, Olivia was playing the role of the frightened client who was even more frightened of her necessary evil attorney. I will Olivia to think on her feet. To come up with an acceptable lie. 

Instead, her face hardens. “Things change.”

Fuentes eyes her for a moment before turning to leave. “Get well soon, Gabriel. I’ll be in touch.”

Olivia follows him to the door and pulls it closed behind him. Then she stops and stares at the door for one second too long, and I know she is steeling herself for our discussion. 

She wants to leave. She wants to leave me here with no idea what happened to me. Panic rises and I squash it quickly. Being confused does not provide an excuse to go completely off the rails. Olivia simply would not do that to me. 

No matter how angry she may be, that would never be a course of action she would pursue.

Finally, she turns, and settles down carefully on the edge of the bed. She looks at me expectantly, like I am a little boy and she knows I stole some cookies, and it unsettles me. 

“Well, what’s the last thing you remember?” She asks. Very cool. Very calm. Her eyes betray her lie. 

I push past the memory of our argument and go further...the drive to the office, far too early for me to actually need to be there. And then...nothing. Which I tell her.

“Someone tried to kill you.” She swallows hard, steadying herself. “Lydia found you. She called the police and an ambulance immediately.”

Lydia, my secretary.

“If I had found you, I would have…” She trails off. 

“You wouldn’t have called an ambulance?” I ask, mostly because she is making me...uncomfortable. She looks emotional. It is the hospital. She hates them. I do not know how to handle that on a good day. But my head is thumping and right now...even worse.

“Not without doing a little...creative...crime scene adjustment.”

“How did they try to kill me Olivia?”

“They hit you in the head with something very heavy.”  
Yes, that tracks. 

“And then…they...um...staged you.” Her eyes shine with unshed tears. My heart clenches. “I was just a few minutes too late. You were already in the ambulance when I got there. I never would have let--”

My hand covers her hand without me willing it to happen. I do not enjoy seeing her upset. Which is like saying a person with an anaphylactic reaction to peanuts does not enjoy eating them. It does not begin to cover the issue.

She looks up from my hand engulfing hers. Tentatively, she reaches out and brushes a hand through the wavy mess of hair on my head. I don’t tell her it hurts. I try not to react like I relish it, either. Both are true.

But there is no time for that at present. 

“Staged me how?” I have to ask, I must do something besides swallowing past my throat, which just went very dry. 

She ignores my words. “Shot in the leg...the car accident…”

I try to joke. “I have had far too many injuries this past few months...ever since meeting you, interestingly enough.”

She keeps going. “I never thought you were going to...this time...for a minute there...you were gone…”

“Olivia?”

She nods. Shakes off the emotion. 

She thinks I’m upset by what she’s feeling. That part...I am not. I am much more upset by what I do not know. 

She tries to tell me. Opens her mouth. Snaps it shut again. “I can’t. I’ll show you the newspaper, okay?”

I do not usually curse. I am normally very careful with words. But right now…what my string of profanity lacks in creativity, it makes up for in repetition.

“That exactly.” She hands me the newspaper. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing you’re a big guy. They didn’t realize they needed an industrial dose to take you down.”

I look at the paper and everything in me clenches up like a spasming muscle. I have never wanted to punch something so badly since James Morgan…I swallow the feeling. I peek over the newspaper at her. I carefully measure my words as they leave my mouth, not wanting to add to her anxiety. 

“Well...this seems to be...quite...personal.” I pause for a moment. “James Morgan?” Because his name is still fresh in my mind.

“God, I hope not. Tristan?”

“Patrick.”

“Can’t imagine he would...maybe the other Elders?”

“I can’t imagine that. Huntsman?”

“Could be. People who are, in some way, negatively affected by the new life of Pamela Larsen’s appeal?”

“That fits."

"Other business enemies?”

“It seems like my most vicious business rivals are connected to you.” I smile. I can’t help it. “We work well together.”

“Yes. We already have a suspect list.”

“Better than I thought.” I am trying to hold on to the way I feel when I talk to her. The pleasant sense of peace. Because what I really want to do is look down at that newspaper again. 

The newspaper article discusses my brush with death. Followed by a full history of my childhood with my mother. It seems that would be a below the belt punch. But it is relevant. Because I was found unconscious and nearly dead on the other end of an empty heroin needle. Exactly how my mother died. 

I wish I could turn myself inside out and shower my insides to get that garbage out of my system. I fight back a deep shudder.

And then it hits me. She is in mid-sentence. I do not even know what she is saying. The words blurt out before I can stop them. “Olivia, thank you.”

She shakes her head sadly. “For not getting there in time to hide that frame job because I was pissed at you and boycotting the office?”

“Since I woke up, you’ve used the term ‘staged’ often...thank you for never once believing I would--”

She scoffs. “I know you better than that.” She leans toward me, and my heart skips, then slams back into full speed, and I am completely unsure if that was a fear response or something else. She stops abruptly. “I’m going to do something. Don’t react all crazy.” She finishes her journey, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

I mentally scream a reminder that she does not mean anything more than friendship by the gesture, that if I act I will be damning myself to a life without her. I really want to act. So I do the only thing I can. I do not jump at her touch, and I do not try to get her to go away. And she notices. She stares back at me, wide-eyed. I squeeze her hand, just a little squeeze. “Get me whatever information you can from Fuentes’ case file. I want to be involved in the investigation.”

She smiles and nods. “Get better fast, Gabriel. We have a killer to catch.”

I wish that we could just have more than a few days at a time where nobody is trying to kill us. I learned long ago that wishes have no purpose.


	2. Slippery Slope

Olivia has somehow gone from ‘never going to set foot in your apartment again’ to ‘completely moved in’ in the time it takes for the hospital to free me from its clutches. It is not as though she was working from a large number of material possessions, but it is still a gesture.

She is worried about me. Because I am, for lack of a better descriptor, horrendously cranky. 

The events of the preceding two days have left me frustrated enough to drop onto the couch bonelessly the minute we enter the apartment. I close my eyes. Still tired. When will I stop being so tired?

“Can I get you anything?” She says. In my apartment. Things have certainly taken a strange direction. 

“Have I showed you where I store Rose’s tea?” My aunt’s tea has a very calming effect. Maybe even supernaturally calming. At this point, you never knew what had its origins in reality and what had origins in some supernatural insanity. I squint up at her, my head pounding from the light of the setting sun streaming through the window. Where the hell are my sunglasses? 

“I’ve seen you make it. I’ll go brew some for you.” She flashes me a smile that I try to return, but I can’t quite muster up the energy.   
“Speaking of Rose,” she calls from the kitchen, “you really need to call her again. She’s worried. Speaking to me isn’t enough.”

I know this. But my eyes are burning and I just saw her two days ago. Nothing has changed but the fact that my body feels even more like it needs a detox only time will provide. 

I do not answer and for a moment, I fall asleep right there on the couch. But the sounds of Olivia rustling through my cabinets rattle me awake and I tear into the kitchen in seconds. 

Olivia is balancing on her knees on my countertop with the upper cabinet doors pulled wide open to reveal…

“Wow. That is a whole lot of beef stew.”

My reaction is instantaneous. I thoughtlessly stomp up beside her and slam my cabinet doors shut. Only then, as she slips off the edge of the counter, do I realize I have startled her. 

I catch her mid-turn, with my hands at her waist and her body between me and the counter. 

“Um, hello.” She says. She sounds a little breathless. I must have really frightened her.

“What were you doing in there?” My face is inches from hers.

“Shit, Gabriel. You ran out of Rose’s tea and I thought maybe there was another canister in here. You were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you so I looked. Is there a problem?” She swallows hard.

And that is when I realize that I have her pressed against the counter. That is when the rest of me realizes it, too. 

I take a step back. “No. Sorry. I am not accustomed to people going through my cabinets. I know you didn’t intend to snoop.”

She laughs. “Gabriel, if I intended on snooping, I would have found a better deep dark secret than your love for beef stew.”

I try not to react. She did stumble upon a secret. She does not realize that those cans of stew, my soda stash, the money and weapons hidden around the apartment, they are all signs of the childhood I have not quite left behind. 

My reaction reveals something and the smile melts from her face. “You’re out of tea. We’re going to have to visit Rose after all.”  
“I thought we were going to get some rest and head into the office?” I ask. A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. 

“I said we were going to get some rest and get some work done,” she corrects. “I brought the relevant files here but I’d rather you didn’t use them. You really should be relaxing and building your strength back up.”

“Why can we not just go back to the office?” I raise my eyebrows and wait for an answer. 

She purses her lips, staring up at me for a second before speaking. “I figured it is the least secure place we could be if we want to keep you safe. At least until this whole thing blows over.”

The tinny notes of her cellphone ringtone fill the air around us. She maintains eye contact with me, even as she reaches into her jean pocket, fishing around until her phone finally yanks out. She glances down at it, double takes, then holds up one finger before answering. As she heads for the bedroom, I swear I see her cheeks flush. “Hey.”

Ricky. I can tell by the tone of her voice. Her boyfriend. The man I kicked her out for inviting here. Which...in hindsight...made me sound either insane or very guilty. 

Or both.

I force my attention away from her and start up my laptop. Olivia may have temporarily confiscated my phone so I could avoid work stress, but I need to distract myself. I do not wish to hear their discussion. 

“Did you really expect me to do anything different? Someone tried to kill him.”

On second thought, maybe it would be advantageous to understand my investigative partner’s mood. Her voice drops again to an undetectable whisper.

With a scowl, I return my attention to my computer and the barrage of new emails to be found there. Most of them, in varying forms, are requests to terminate my employment. Clients are dropping me faster than I dropped from that concussion. 

I can’t even muster more than an angry glare at my computer. 

“Yes, I know you can, but he doesn’t want...No, you know what that’s fine. I’m sorry if it upsets you, but it’s not going to change. And DO NOT let your father fire us too!” A deep breath. A sigh. “Look...it’s not like that. Just...don’t….Ricky? Hello?” 

I glance around my apartment and will my heart rate down. I can feel the success I spent years building slipping through my fingers.

No. That will not happen. I fought to build this. I will fight to keep this. 

She takes a minute (I really need to remove those words from my vocabulary. She is absolutely correct about that.) before tracking me down in the living room and tossing herself down on the couch next to me. She stares. 

I will not look up at her. She is fighting a losing battle. I will just continue reading, e-mail after e-mail, and I will not even acknowledge her earlier admonishment about me trying to work. She can stare until her eyes dry out. I do not care.

She lets out a whimper. My head whips around to face her. And she laughs. A deep belly laugh that vacillates between symphonic and completely undignified. 

When she can finally pull air, on the tail end of a chuckle, she says, “I knew having an emotion in front of you would completely unnerve you. But that’s what you get for deliberately disobeying me.”

I want to tell her that her emotions used to bother me, and now they just make me want to react and that bothers me. Instead I say, “Did Lydia quit and simply neglect to mention it to me?” Because I’ve been wondering since her visit the day before. 

She finally stops laughing. “No! No. She’s just laying low. I told her to take a week of vacation time in the hopes that we will have this thing solved by the time she gets back. If she had walked in on the altercation in your office the other day…”

“She could have been harmed. Being in my vicinity is dangerous right now and still, you insist on accompanying me everywhere.” I raise my eyebrows at her. 

“Do you want me to leave you alone, Gabriel?” She raises her chin, her eyes defiant, resolve made of steel. 

No. Please don’t. “I want you to be safe,” I say. “I’m...concerned.”

The defiant stance drops. She sinks further into the couch. “Ricky doesn’t want me here. Or rather, he doesn’t want me here without him here to protect both of us.” 

“I’m sorry the two of you are arguing. You know…” I am not sorry.

“I know. I wouldn’t invite him. You can barely deal with me being here.” She quirks a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Apparently, he believes we’re not enough to handle this.”

That makes me smile. “He has never seen us in action. Besides, I only allowed the killer to get the drop on me because I was distracted. I wasn’t taking the proper precautions. That will not happen again.”

“You’re blaming this on me now?” I can’t tell if she is truly upset or just twisting me around. “Our argument distracted you, so naturally you were almost killed.”

I shift a little closer, looking her in the eye. “Are you playing me?”

Her eyes narrow into slits so tight I almost can’t see the green anymore. She leans a little closer to me. “What do you think?”

And it becomes a staring match.

It is all a big game of wits with the two of us. Sometimes, when I am with her, I feel like I probably should have felt as a younger boy. I feel mischievous. Playful. 

Free.

I sway closer, as though pulled along on a string, and she leans in, just the slightest bit. I don’t even realize where this standoff is going until my nose is brushing hers, I feel her breath on my lips, her eyes slide closed and…

A loud and obnoxious buzzing noise screams from the bedroom, and she swiftly twists to face the source, handgun poised and ready to shoot. 

Just where the hell was she keeping that thing?

“Phone. It’s your phone alarm,” I say, steadfastly refusing to think about what almost just occurred. “Make sure you take it out before it harms us.” 

“Shit.” She tucks the gun back into her waistband and rushes for the alarm. 

I wince with every tone. My head still hurts. That’s the only excuse for what I almost allowed.

“Sorry.” She’s draped invitingly along the door frame, at the entrance to my bedroom. “I can’t believe I forgot about this, but I have to go to the diner. My shift starts in an hour.”

It is a forcible struggle not to appear disappointed. I hold the laptop up at her. “Concerned you will no longer have a lucrative job you enjoy in a few days time?”

She sighs. “No, Gabriel. The clients will return once we prove the truth. I’ve set up your out of office message to say you’ll be out of communication until the end of the week. And you shouldn’t be playing with that, you should be investigating your own case.”

“I would if there were any leads that were not based purely on conjecture.” I grumble. “The police won’t give us anything, and I am forced to lie in wait until someone decides to kill me or I can no longer pay Lydia for her vacation.”

Olivia grins. “And now you understand the need to return to my second job. What if you can’t pay me?”

“You can hold out for a little while longer. You’re staying here. I can provide whatever you need.”

For now, a voice shouts inside of me, one that sounds much younger, much more afraid. And then what happens when it comes down to that last can of beef stew and there’s two of you? Then who will you become?

She tilts her head at me, our well established symbol for what is going on with you? I believe she picked it up from me. 

That is when I realize that what I just said, coupled with what I very nearly did, probably did not have the connotations I had originally intended. 

“I mean, we can pool our resources...we can work together to meet each other’s...” I cannot put a sentence together. I am out of sentences that do not sound like sexual references. At least to me they do…

She doesn’t seem to notice my distress and I wonder if somehow she managed to miss the part of the day where I very nearly kissed her. Because I didn’t. 

She just smiles. “There is no pooling of resources if I have none. It’s okay, really. I’ll be back tonight.”

She grabs her things and prepares to leave. She walks to the door and stops when she’s facing it. “Or...if you’re feeling up to it, you can give me a ride into Cainsville…”

“Wouldn’t you rather drive?”

“Your call,” she says. “I’m pretty tired. If you are, too, I’ll drive.”

“Hmmm…last time I fell asleep in the car while you were driving, I woke up in a ditch.” I rest my laptop on the coffee table and stretch before pulling myself to my feet. “As you advised earlier, I owe Rose a visit, anyway. I need more tea.”   
“Where’s the trust?” She asks with a grin as she heads for the door. 

She doesn’t realize how little of a problem that is around her. 

Normally, when Olivia falls asleep in the car, or closes her eyes, she curls up in the corner, her head resting against the window. This time, she does not, and when we hit a bump on the road, her head slips to the side and lands against my shoulder. She doesn’t wake up immediately and readjust. Instead, she sighs and nuzzles my shoulder. 

I stare ahead, my eyes glued to the road. Everything in me rebels - don’t do this! Pull back! Retreat! And there is that one little part of me, a part I rarely listen to, that tells me I am happy, truly happy, like I have never been. And that part of me is waiting patiently for the moment when the other shoe drops.


	3. Fables and Fairytales

“Gabriel!” Rose greets me warmly as she pulls the door open, then looks behind me, which makes me feel quite welcome. “Where is Olivia?”

“She’s at work.” I step past Rose and into her home, past the various bobbles decorating it. If Olivia was here, she would comment on one of them, explaining the fables or fairy tales surrounding one or the other, or some historical significance of which I had previously been unaware. I wonder if either of them realize that Rose’s love for faerie lore and Olivia’s love for Victorian Era literature appear to be far from a coincidence. I’m about to teasingly ask Rose about the benefits of possessing these trinkets when one has fae blood, but I am stopped dead in my tracks by the man sitting on my aunt’s couch. 

“Patrick. How are you?” I try to sound respectful, but I am suspicious. 

Bocan. Hobgoblin. Boggart.

Alarms go off in the back of my mind, and I can hear Olivia there, warning me away. 

Rose strides up beside me. “Have a seat Gabriel. We were just discussing you.”

“Oh?” I pointedly do not take a seat. 

“Yes,” Rose sighs as she settles onto the edge of her chair, not bothering to sit back all the way. “I’m actually somewhat glad that Olivia didn’t come here with you. This conversation will go easier without her.”

They are not doing anything to ease my suspicions. “Easier how?”

“You are filled with questions today,” Rose says.

I frown. “Yes, I have questions. I am an attorney. I always have questions. Especially when someone behaves in a questionable manner.” I sigh and cautiously lower myself into a chair. “I came for tea. But this conversation would go easier without Olivia.”

“Where is Olivia, anyway?” Patrick asks. “I would think she wouldn’t leave your side for a second after what happened.”

This story had already spread far wider than I had suspected. 

“I did not take any illicit substances.” I insist. “Whatever is being sold to the newspapers--”

“False,” Patrick says. “Complete fabrications. Have you asked yourself why?” He stares at me, head tilted, eyes unblinking, completely still. “Why would anyone wish to spread lies about you?”

“I came here for tea, Rose.” I grumble.

“Which I will go get for you, while Patrick gives you some answers.” She pushes herself to her feet and heads for the kitchen.

Patrick waits until she is gone before he speaks. “She wants what’s best for you. You know that. She and Olivia may be the only ones who can clearly state that without an ulterior motive.”

I do know that. But I am unimpressed with Patrick’s presence in my aunt’s house, given what I know. So I do not answer.

Patrick rolls his eyes and sucks his teeth like a child. “My, you’re a tough nut to crack today. I suppose it makes sense considering. No matter, I wish to discuss your destiny.”

That earns a very serious, very mocking nod from me. “Of course you do.”

Patrick grins. “Come on, man. Haven’t you wondered? Olivia has a vision about Matilda that involves two men. One, the leader of the Cwn Annwn, the Wild Hunt, the other, a Faerie King. She rejects one and goes to the other only to realize she was wrong. And what if there was a chance to do it all again? What if there was a chance to make the correct decision?”

My patience is dwindling, and suddenly, all I can see in my mind’s eye is Olivia collapsing after that experience. The hammering of my heart when I couldn’t get her to respond. “What do you know about Olivia? What must she do?”

Patrick raises his eyebrows and stares at me. “You are Gwynn.” 

Not the answer I was expecting. “I am Gabriel. Perhaps you have gotten so old that you’re experiencing some confusion.”

Patrick laughs. “Okay, let’s try that again. As Olivia has some essence of Matilda, you are the Fae King. The one Matilda should have chosen.”

I blink. Once. Twice. On the one hand, I know, I KNOW, that Olivia makes her own decisions and is not driven by some predetermined destiny. On the other hand…

“Precisely what am I supposed to do with that information?”

“You are supposed to use it as a guide,” Patrick says. “To show you that you’re on the right track, but you can’t wait forever. Eventually, you must make a move and take your place in this story. I’m here to give you a choice. Do you choose to be a winner this time? Or do you choose to be a loser?”

My stomach clenches. “I choose not to be a pawn.” I push myself back up to my feet. Rose’s chair creaks under my weight. I stomp my way back towards the door. I do not like what Patrick was digging for. The idea that my feelings for Olivia are that transparent. The idea that I am so transparent. 

Rose steps into my path just as I am about to leave. A hot cup of tea balances on a saucer in one hand, and a canister of tea leaves for me to take with me is in the other. Her eyes plead with me to stay and listen.

“Thank you.” I take the canister with a slight bow of my head in apology. “You drink that. Or give it to your friend.”

I try to dodge around her, but there she is again. “Gabriel, he’s telling the truth. I’ve seen the signs. You need to hear him out.”  
“No, Rose. I am not filling whatever role he wants me to play in the Tylwyth Teg.”   
“You may not have a choice, Gabriel.” She sighs. “Olivia should not return to work. She’s needed. You need to protect each other.” 

“I am fairly certain I can protect myself.”

“Can you?” She asks. “Do you have any idea what is coming, Gabriel? Because I don’t. But he does.” She inclines her head in Patrick’s direction and when my eyes follow, he is standing in the doorway, doing little more than blinking eerily.

I should not ask. But my feet are rooted to the floor and I will not leave without the answer. “If I play my part, what happens? Will she be safe?”

“There truly is no guarantee,” Patrick says. “But you are the better choice than the alternative.”

“The alternative?” My eyes narrow.  
“Handsome young excitable thing. Rides his horse around your city. Goes by the name of--”

“Ricky.” The word is out of my mouth before I even realize I’m saying it.

“Well, much like you and Olivia, it was Arawn then.”

I shake my head, because I truly can’t wrap my head around this. In the pursuit of a job, a paycheck, I have somehow managed to become entangled in the retelling of a medieval love triangle? This goes beyond absurd. 

“And if I refuse to play along? If Ricky wins? Then what? Is Olivia’s safety endangered? Or is it your safety you’re worried about.”

He does not answer. He does not even move.

“Just as I believed. You are only providing this information because it serves you.” I smile, but I infuse it with a threat. I cannot imagine ever allowing harm to befall Patrick. The instinct to respect him runs too deep. Still, the urge to shake him until he rattles and the pieces of this puzzle scatter along the floor so I can reassemble it gets stronger by the day. 

And then he says this.

“Not at all. Olivia made me feel guilty about what I did to you and now I feel like the balances have tipped. I don’t like things out of balance. So I’m doing my part to right it. I do not wish to be in your debt, Gabriel.”

I wish I could think of something, anything, more eloquent than “What?!” I blink. I swallow. I force out, “What...you...did...to...me?” Because what could he have done to me? I have known him all my life and never had an ill thought until recently, and even that wasn’t based on who he was, just on the secrets he was keeping from Olivia. 

Patrick’s eyes widen and he pales. And I realize that whatever he has just told me was something he assumed I already knew. Assumed Olivia had told me. And it is bad. 

Whatever it is, it is bad.

“Rose?”

The cup of tea she is holding shakes and tea sloshes over the side of the cup. She curses when it burns her fingers. 

“Rose.” Not a question, but a demand. The only two people I have allowed myself to trust are lying to me, and the fact of it is a rock in my throat.

She looks up, looks me dead in the eye. Her face is stern, her mouth is a line. “Knowing would only make things worse. That’s why Olivia--”

“I am not asking why Olivia, or you, for that matter, chose to withhold information from me. I am asking what that information was.” My words are clipped and cold, like I’m interrogating the witness for the opposition. All my life, everyone has always been on the opposing side. What a fool I had been to forget. 

Rose shakes her head and clenches her jaw, but through gritted teeth, she answers. “Patrick is your father.”

For a moment, the words are nonsense. And then, suddenly, they come through with blaring clarity. 

I remember punching James Morgan in the stomach, how he needed to be checked for internal injuries, and I wonder if it felt something like this.

Bocan. Hobgoblin. Boggart.

Father.

All that time that I was living with my mother in a rundown apartment, hiding from the men who cycled in and out of that shack, watching as she debated over which was a more valuable use of her money - heroin or a coat for me in the winter, stealing to keep myself from going hungry, I would pop in and out of Cainsville and the person who could have helped, who could have stopped all of it before it even happened, came to visit, greeted me, acted like he didn’t know a thing, and did absolutely nothing.

I am a survivor. I found my way. I did not need his help. 

But it would have been damned nice if I had never required help to begin with. 

I do not remember leaving Rose’s. I do not remember getting in my car. All I remember is pulling up in front of The Corner Diner. 

I fumble with the door lock for a solid minute before I finally get the door open. When I look down, my hands are shaking.

Who am I? I am certainly not myself. Not cool. Not calm. Not in control. 

Perhaps that is because I am suddenly a possible Faery King with hobgoblin blood whose destiny is to woo a banshee away from the underworld. Or something along those lines.

When I put it in those terms, I have to fight to hold off hysterics.   
I am not going inside of that diner. I will not bear all eyes on me while I confront her about this. Or...maybe...that is precisely how this should be handled. And then everyone who assisted in keeping this secret could see the result. 

When I enter the diner, my eyes are like magnets, zeroing in on Olivia in seconds. She lights up when she sees me, green eyes flashing, a slow smile spreading across her face. She has very clearly been bored. She is still leaning her cheek on her fist, her elbow propped on the counter. She waits a beat, then straightens to her full height and walks around the counter to greet me.

For a moment, we are the only people in the room. For a moment, I almost forgive her. 

She looks at me for a second, just a second, and her eyes sharpen, her entire body tightens. She is on alert. “What? Did something happen?”

“Yes,” I say, evenly. “Something happened.”

“Are you okay?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Why? Gabriel, what happened?”

There are patrons in the diner. The usual crew, minus, of course, Patrick. But the elders are there, and Larry, and the room has gone completely and unnaturally still.

“I visited Rose.” I say simply, lightly, like it holds no meaning. It doesn’t yet. My nerves have been torn and shredded and there is nowhere to register the betrayal. “Patrick was there.”

I watch the words seep into her and they weigh her down, they morph her face into a panic, and though I think I’m coming off as casual and unaffected, I know just from her face that I am not. I look as unfocused as I feel and she knows what is coming. 

“I want you to listen to me very carefully. I will return to my car and drive back to Chicago. I will pack up a box of your things and I will overnight them to you. After that point, I no longer wish to hear anything about you, the Larsens, their case, Cainsville, the Cwn Annwn or the Tylwyth Teg. I will erase this entire misstep from my mind and return to my normal life. Do not attempt to contact me.” I curse myself for the way my voice begins to sound strangled. I curse myself for the way I am willing to give up a potential career advancement to evade the pain of having her and the complications she brings in my life for one more minute.

“Gabriel,” she says through gritted teeth. “What did Patrick tell you?”

There it is. There is the emotion I do not want. It nearly doubles me over. “The truth. Which is more than I have been getting from anyone else.”

She glances at the door, and I know she wants to take this conversation outside, but she won’t ask me to. Not now. “I just thought knowing would...hurt you.” She regrets the words the minute they leave her lips. Her wince makes it clear.

I bark out a laugh. “Hurt me?” 

Her jaw sets, her head tilts, her lips screw up in that defiant pout. I love her and hate her all at once. I think I just realized how deep this runs and the understanding is almost crippling in its intensity. 

“No. I suppose I shouldn’t have presumed you had emotions.” 

Good. Anger is what I want. Anything else makes things...uncomfortable. I nod. “You will receive a box of your things tomorrow.” I head for the door. 

“Where?” She shouts after me. “I don’t have an apartment anymore.”

“I will send it to Rose.” The words are cold. I stare through the glass door at my car, which feels like an oasis mirage miles away in the desert. 

“Of course. An answer for everything. You must have been waiting for an excuse.”

I whirl on her, my anger taking control. My anger has not controlled me as much in all my life as it has since I met Olivia. Yet another reason to cut my losses and escape this madness. “I trusted you. It was a foolish error.”

She flinches and I don’t have to wonder if she has any idea what that means. Me trusting her. She knows. 

“Gabriel.” It is a whisper, but it holds the winning point of a game I am no longer willing to play. For so many reasons.

The door barely seals shut before I start my car and skid down the road at speeds the elders specifically asked me to avoid. 

I speed that way until I am out of Cainsville.

Permanently.


	4. Poppies and Missed Call Notifications

I jolt out of a nightmare I do not remember, gasping, like I did when I awoke from nightmares of my time on the streets. But this feels different, older, somehow. Only one image remains burned behind my eyelids, the image of a woman, running across a field, her skirts trailing behind her, her hair whipping in the wind. It comes accompanied with a desperation, a need to get her back before she makes a mistake she is unable to reverse. 

Back in reality, my phone is ringing. Again.

It has rang multiple times since Olivia’s shift at the diner ended. I looked at the phone when it initially rang, but I chose not to answer. I looked at it again the next few times. And then, I tossed it across the room. It landed behind the stereo. I have been ignoring it ever since. 

I refuse to answer. I didn’t bother sending her things back. I planned to do it in the morning. 

I do not wish to be comforted. I do not want apologies. I want to forget this ever happened. I want to be alone. It is safer there. I am instantly disgusted with myself for thinking that.

Frustrated, I untangle myself from my sweat-soaked sheets, which I have somehow managed to wrap completely around my ankles like a lasso. I stomp into the bathroom and shower, hoping to wash the grime away. The grime of the dream, of the evening, of the week. Nothing feels clean enough.

I leave the shower and get dressed in one of my good suits. If this is how early I will be waking up, I might as well go into the office and get things started again. I am not one to wallow. I have already done enough of that in the last few hours. 

I look in on every one of my stashes one more time to make sure they have gone untouched despite the destructive variable that shook my life up for the last couple of months. 

They are exactly as they were left. They were exactly as they were left before I slept. 

Then, despite myself, I go looking for my phone. I need it. For business.

A knock on the door actually makes me jump. It takes a lot to unnerve me, but nobody knocks on my apartment door and it’s two in the morning. Only one person would have the audacity, and she is the one person I want to see even less than everyone else. I march to the door in disbelief. How dare she? I told her my wishes, specifically, and she ignored them. What could she possibly want from me? 

I yank the door open. So much for survival instincts. But my expectations are incorrect, and I find myself staring into icy blue eyes instead of warm green ones. 

“Rose?” I look behind her. “What are you doing here?”

“May I come in?” Her tone is as icy as her eyes. “What in the world is wrong with you? You don’t answer your phone?”

“It is the middle of the night and I am not in the mood to socialize.” I am a boulder in the doorway. I will not let anyone through these doors. Not again. “And you shouldn’t be traveling at this hour.”

“Gabriel…”

“No. You cannot change my mind. I refuse to play this game any longer. And if you insist on looping yourself in with Patrick and the Tylwyth Teg, I will begin to distance myself from you as--”

“Olivia is missing.” 

It takes me a second to gather myself, but I manage. “She is not missing.” I scoff. “Things got a little too difficult for her and she went running home to her trust fund and the world of exotic fast cars and high society shoe designers.”

“No. She didn’t. And you don’t even believe that.” Rose purses her lips and crosses her arms over her chest. “Has she tried to call you?”

The string of phone calls I allowed to ring out to voicemail freezes my blood. 

“You see?” Rose spots the hesitation on my face immediately. “Check your phone.”

Do not panic. There is no reason to panic. She was not calling you for help while you were running away from truths you did not want to face. No, she called out of anger because you would not allow her to explain away her lie. Then she went back home.

That is all.

Thoroughly convinced once again, I lean pointedly on the door frame and raise my eyebrows to show Rose that I will not be rushing off to get my phone.

I am not Olivia’s pit bull.

Rose eyes me for a moment, lets out a frustrated growl. Then, she reaches up and grabs me by my shoulders. I am so surprised, she actually manages to pull me down so we are at eye-level. “Why don’t you ever listen?”

I take a deep, steadying breath. “Rose. I think you need to go home now.”

“She saw poppies, you blind fool.”

I blink, once, twice. My brain, which is accustomed to rules and laws and tangible possibilities, and not to reading omens, takes a moment to process the significance of such a ridiculous statement.

Poppies are a death omen. “What? When?”

“She probably neglected to tell you that the paramedics threatened to sedate her when she saw the ambulance in front of your office. Lydia knew you two were close, but she didn’t understand the intensity of her reaction. And neither did I. Olivia is not prone to hysterics. She’s actually eerily calm in situations where she shouldn’t be. But once I spoke with her, I understood.” She lets go of my shoulders, her arms dropping to her sides, seeming to drag her down. “She didn’t just see the ambulance in front of your office. She saw a field of poppies. She thought you were dead.”

I glance over my shoulder at the place where I know my phone landed.

“She saw them again today.”

I do not wait for further explanation. I am across the room so swiftly that my shoes nearly slide out from under me. I retrieve my phone.  
Fifteen missed calls. Fifteen. And eleven voicemail messages. I fumble twice while attempting to plug in the code to unlock the display.

As I play the first message, my eyes are drawn to the view. The reason I purchased this condo. The entire reason I brought Olivia up here in the first place. To see the view.

“It’s Olivia. But you already know that. That’s why you’re not picking up the phone. Listen, I understand why you’re angry. You’re right. I made a mistake. We’re supposed to be a team and I kept something big from you. But I figured...I mean we’ve been through this before, right? We’ve both made some mistakes, but we’re still figuring this whole...partnership...out. Look. You almost died the other day. And we were supposed to be looking out for each other. So...just call me, okay? So we can talk about it.”

The message ends. Not only am I feeling less anxious, but less angry. She has a point. I have done things that put her trust in me on shaky ground. She heard me out and forgave me. Trust is more difficult for me, and I think she understands that, but she is not about to allow me to cut her off for something I, myself, have done twice. If she was, she would not be Olivia.

Message 2: “It’s me again. If you don’t pick up, I’m going to find some obnoxious corporate attorney type and give the Larsen case over to them. You’ll lose all that shiny money and you don’t really want that, do you?” She sighs. “God, I sound like such an asshole. That was an attempt at a joke. Just call me. I’m...just call me.”

Now, I was beginning to feel like an asshole. I generally don’t do anything that I will feel badly about afterward, mostly because I can rationalize my way out of feeling guilty about anything. But she has a special talent. Her conscience, an unexpectedly complex work of art in its own right, has managed to squirm beneath my skin, where it has frustratedly lived since some of my very early encounters with her. 

The voice on Message 3, surprises me, mostly because it is not her.

“Hey, Gabriel. It’s me. Ricky. Listen, I haven’t heard from you or Liv in a day and she said she would check in and let me know you guys were safe. And…” A pause. “Dammit. I don’t want to make you think I’m James Morgan-ing her. I know how to deal with a break up and I’m not stalking her. But I consider you both my friends, and with all the shit going on lately...I just want to make sure you guys are okay. Give me a call? And listen...no matter what happens, Satan’s Saints are your clients. You’ve always done well by us, and there’s no way you could be guilty of what was in the papers. We know that. So, you don’t have to worry about that, okay? We’ve got our ears to the ground for you.” 

Well...that was heartening. Of course I mean the fact that I still have my number one clients and not the fact that Ricky and Olivia dissolved their relationship. Of course.

Message 4: A hang up.

Message 5: Another hang up.

Message 6: “You’re being a real dick, you know that?” I almost laugh. I was wondering how long it would take her to work her way up to anger. “I thought we finally had an understanding. I thought we got each other, that there was no need to put certain things into words, but that is clearly not true, so here it is. I know all about the things you hide in the condo.”

Her words are a surprise right hook. 

“I stumbled upon them, and I know why they are there. And despite never having been through anything close, I can see what having a mother like Seanna cost you. And maybe I screwed up, but I thought that knowing about Patrick would only make things worse for you. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe you don’t care. Or maybe that’s what you’re really so upset about. It doesn’t matter. The point is, it doesn’t change anything. I know who you are. None of what I know changes any of that. And aside from being an incredible lawyer, a general badass, and a good friend, it also makes you such a hypocritical bastard. At least I was trying to protect you when I lied. You know, not trying to make money off of you like you did when you lied to me. But that’s okay. Like I said, I know exactly who you are. And I still --” 

A clatter. And the line goes dead. 

“Message 7,” The automated voice says. And I realize that if she is dead, it is on me. 

“Gabriel?” Rose sounds concerned. I do not know how I must look, but I feel sick. I am about to respond when the next message begins. As it plays, I walk into my bedroom and recover a gun and knife from a box beneath the central heating apparatus. 

“Gabriel Walsh?” I instantly recognize the voice as that of a certain weasel. “This is James Morgan. I have concerns that something may have happened to Olivia. Please call me back as soon as possible.”

That is...peculiar. They no longer have contact. How would he…

Message 8: Hang Up.

Message 9: Garbled sounds. I can’t make them out. As they play, I position my weapons. 

“Gabriel, what did you hear?” Rose sounds like she is speaking under water. She is two rooms away.

Message 10: Hang up.

Message 11: “Gabriel.” I exhale sharply. It’s her. But she sounds wrong. She slurs her words. “Gabriel, it’s Olivia. I...don’t want to leave a message like this. I’m okay. I seem to be a little trapped at the moment, but I’ll be okay.” A little nervous laugh and the air leaves the room. “You know I always figure myself out of my scrapes.” A pause. “Just...I want to ask you to just listen and not interrupt, but you’re a voicemail. That knock in the head must have done worse damage than I thought. Anyway...in case I don’t figure myself out of this, don’t beat yourself up. You couldn’t have known I wasn’t just calling to apologize incessantly. You should...um...you should know...I’ve considered it a privilege, the trust you’ve placed in me.” Her voice sounds thick. Shit...she is crying. I have to do something. I am on my feet. I am heading for the door when a frustrated groan rattles across the line. “That’s not enough. I’m sorry. Okay. Nothing to lose now, so confession time. I lied because...well...sometimes people lie to protect the people they love from getting hurt. And...despite the fact that I know it’s never going anywhere, and I’m probably ruining our friendship just by leaving this message, I know how I feel and what I want and I’d be an idiot not to say it now. Because I love you, Gabriel.”

My breath catches. No, Olivia. You’re wrong. It won’t ruin anything. It is exactly what I am pretending not to want. I never expected you to reciprocate...But where are you? Where?! 

“I should go. I’m wasting air. I’ll...well, hopefully, I’ll talk to you soon. And...if...you’re not on board with that last bit...when I see you, we can just pretend I never said it and go right back to the way things have been. Your call. No hard feelings.” A long uncomfortable pause. “Goodbye, Gabriel.”

I don’t even realize I’m whispering “no” over and over again until there is another knock at the door and I am snapped out of the end of a harsh expulsion of the word, couched between Rose’s struggles to regain my attention. We both look at the door. I hadn’t even heard Rose come inside. 

“It’s Ricky.”

I wrench the door open and I am already growling that I do not have time for this. I am just leaving. 

And then James Morgan lands at my feet, his face smacking the ground with a resounding thwack. 

“Aah, but where are you going?” Ricky asks, moving to squat over him with a knife poised at the small of his back. He grins up at me. “Traced the heroin purchase to a thug employed by this gentleman. If Liv’s in trouble--”

“She is.” I need to hold it together. My stomach rolls around violently.

“She is?” Ricky’s face hardens. “I’ll bet he knows where we can find her.”

And when he kicks Morgan in the groin, his pain is like a symphony to me.


	5. Obtaining Answers

On the topic of torturing James Morgan, I was of two minds. I would very much like to turn him inside out. However, though Ricky appears to be settling in for the night, we do not have the luxury of taking our time. 

“Ricky. A moment?”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear my hidden, jittery, side demanding I hurry up. Olivia is dying somewhere. Yes, dying. Because that last phone call was not fear. It was certainty. She would never leave a message like that on my phone if she honestly believed she would be around later to deal with the fallout. 

Find her! Help her finish whatever escape attempt she is undoubtedly working out and bring her home.

Home, the voice says. And it means this condo.

Unaware of my internal battles, Ricky releases the weasel and leans in to hear what I have to say.

“I believe I should handle this,” I say. “We must be expedient. I have received a call from Olivia and she…” I can’t finish my sentence. “We must find her sooner rather than later.”

Ricky catches my eye, his expression starting as suspicious, but melting into panic. I try to remain stony and resolved, but I feel the expression begin to mirror his. The moment I look away, he steps aside.

With a faked smirk, he says, “Gabriel, he’s all yours.”

“No. No.” The weasel tries to crab walk away from me, as Ricky has tied his hands behind his back. 

“Oh yes.” I am way too happy about this. “Do not be concerned. This is all going to be very simple.”

Morgan almost looks hopeful.

I meet his eyes, try to maintain a cold, business-like demeanor. “Olivia is trapped somewhere with a head wound. She is trying to escape, and she is unaware of her location. She clearly believes herself to be in real, mortal, danger. If I am to assist her, I need to know where she is. Do you have any information that can assist me in that regard?” I wait a beat, and he says nothing. “Please.”

Morgan’s eyes narrow. “Jesus, you’re in love with her.”

I tug a long hunting knife, the one I had taken from my stash, from its holder on my belt and press its jagged tip to his nose. “You are straying from the topic at hand, and I am unfortunately pressed for time.” The words have bite and any attempt at making this exchange seem business-like has fled. “Let us try this again. I am going to ask you a question. You will answer swiftly or I will cut out your tongue, hand you a pen and paper and start all over again. Ready?”

He swallows hard, but he doesn’t say a word. 

“Who gave you the idea for the heroin set up?”

He doesn’t answer. Not right away. Not according to the rules I have set out for him.

“You already know how serious I am,” I say, because if the cat is out of the bag, I might as well use it to our advantage. “Do you really want to test what lengths I would go to? You have already used up my last moment of forgiveness. Do not use up your last moment to hold onto your tongue. I am, as I am sure you understand, not joking.”

Morgan takes a deep breath and then it all spills out. “I don’t know why I did it. It’s not like me. I don’t stoop to depths like that. I mean...I hate you, but that seemed far too low. Still, once Tristan started talking...I just did it. I don’t know why.”

I glance at Rose and Ricky. Ricky watches me with a mixed expression of concern and surprise. Rose looks satisfied and smug. 

“Tristan,” I say. “The gentleman from the mental institution debacle.” 

Both nod. 

“I’m sure you just couldn’t help yourself,” Ricky sneers. “What did he do? Control you?” 

“Not as unlikely as you may believe,” I say. “Once we recover Olivia, the four of us need to have a serious conversation. There are some things we’ve been holding back that may be essential knowledge.” I returned my attention to Morgan. “What do you know about what happened to Olivia?”

“I don’t know if it means anything.” Suddenly, Morgan is not frightened. He is not angry. Remorse flies from him in waves. He had no problem harming me, but aligning himself with someone who would would harm her is a different animal. “I overheard him talking about it. He called me in for a meeting to discuss the next steps with...our project.”

“Me, yes.” I prod him forward.

“I overheard him on the phone. Something about holding Olivia near the gargoyle.”

Now that was a mystery I could solve. “She’s in Cainsville.” I confirm for Ricky. “Did he say which?”

Morgan’s face twists up, like he doesn’t understand what he is about to say. “He said ‘Gabriel’s gargoyle’. I assume that means something to you.”

Of course it does. And I am already grabbing my car keys and preparing to leave the minute the words leave his mouth. 

“I’m coming with you,” Ricky says. 

“You can’t.”

“It’s Olivia. I have to come.” His jaw is set and he is standing in my way. I understand. This is the very thing I would have done if the shoe were on the other foot. I would have demanded to come if he was the one who had information on her whereabouts. 

I feel for him. I hate it. I hate the fact that I have to trust him to accomplish things even more. It would almost be easier to bring him along. “Ricky, I understand. But I know where she is, we do not have time to argue, and someone needs to guard Rose in case Tristan decides to try a different tack and come at me through her.”

“I can take care of myself,” she says, but we both ignore her. This is someone who got the drop on me. Leaving her to fend for herself would be foolish.

“And someone needs to keep Mr. Morgan in check until I insure he has told us the truth and decide what else I intend to do with him.” I hold out the keys to the condo, and it is like I have cut off my finger and handed it to him as an offering. “It is safe here. But if you have to leave for any reason, you will need these.”

He still looks ill at ease, shifting his weight between his feet. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.” He takes the keys and I practically twitch with their loss. I have just entrusted my sanctuary to someone else. Except...this is not my fortress anymore.

My sense of safety is hidden in Cainsville near a gargoyle designed to look like me. 

“You’ll bring her back safely.” It’s a question, but not a question. He is afraid it might not be possible. 

I do not promise anything. I am halfway through the door when I turn and grab both of Rose’s forearms and look her in the eyes. Now, when someone is trying to attack me and the people I care for, is not the time to conceal emotions. “Stay safe.”

She smiles. “Yes, sir.” She opens her light jacket to reveal the handle of a gun sticking from her trousers.

I nod my approval. 

The wait for and in the elevator is excruciating enough for me to wish I had taken the stairs. When I finally get to my car, I am relatively certain that the screech of my tires can be heard behind the heavy glass windows of my apartment.

It should be an hour drive to Cainsville. I am in the expanse of land behind the town hall building in twenty minutes. I stare up at the gargoyle that was built to look like me when I was ten as a reward for discovering all of the hidden gargoyles in Cainsville.

When my eyes catch it, I notice, this time, that it does not look like I did then. It does not look like a child. It looks like I do now.

How have I never noticed this before? Before I can reason out an answer, before I even begin to look for Olivia, my phone rings.


	6. Shovelful by Damn Shovelful

I am suffocating. I swear it.

I glance around the empty stretch of land. I am a pawn, sent here because I was supposed to be, and I have no idea what that can mean but, for perhaps the first time, my lack of questions has nothing to do with the compulsion of the Elders, and everything to do with the one thing I am looking for but can not see.

I do not have time for questions. I need to find her.

When my phone rings, I nearly fumble it. The last few days have done nothing but fray my nerves as, I suppose, they were designed to do, to leave me dancing on the edge, with no idea of who I am or what I believe.

I glance at the screen and the sense of relief is all encompassing. A more dramatic man would fall to their knees. I just breathe a sigh and answer. "Olivia? Where are you?"

There is a muffled sound on the other end of the line. A crackle. She is trying to say something, but the connection keeps cutting in and out and her voice is vague and garbled.

"Olivia, I can't hear you. I need you to tell me - I was told I could find you by the gargoyle the town made for me. Are you here? Dial any button - once for yes, twice for no."

One beep.

"I don't see you. Are you hiding? Is it too dangerous to speak? Are you injured?" I hear the panic rising in my voice. I wince. This is exactly what he wants. I'm giving him exactly what he wants and…

...I don't care.

The connection goes dead. I look down at the phone just as a text message comes in. It's Olivia.

"Look down."

I do. And that's when it clicks.

Somewhere in this large expanse of land, buried under the rain drenched soil, is Olivia. And I have no idea how I will find her in time.

Another text message.

"I'm sorry."

I am suffocating. And if I can't get to her soon, so is she.

I close my eyes. Breathe. Think. Think. Think.

I run to my car to retrieve my shovel. Because of course I have a small shovel in the trunk of my car. One never knows when one might need something like that. I can almost hear Olivia's laughter at that thought, and my chest squeezes.

I pull the shovel from the trunk, take my crowbar with it for good measure, and head back, all the while trying to work out why Tristan would do this.

Because you are Gwynn. Tristan is trying to push you into your role. Save the girl. Be the Fae King. Win the prize.

Except Olivia is not a prize to be won. And she is usually perfectly capable of saving herself. And if she did not want me, even this daring rescue would not make her want me.

If I can save her. Which Tristan wants me to do. Meaning she is in the most obvious place in this open field.

My gargoyle is the headstone to her grave. Protecting her. Like I haven't.

What is it that Tristan is always saying? He is always trying to get everyone to open their eyes. What is he trying to get me to see?

I begin to dig, hauling shovelful after shovelful of dirt over my shoulder with the speed of someone whose life is on the line. Because it is. I see that now.

I do not know who I will be if I find Olivia and she is already dead.

I continue to dig. I am dirty and sweaty and out of breath by the time my shovel hits the wood with a thunk. It is only about three feet down. Any more time and I would have been better off calling in a crew to get her out. As it is, I do not expect a satisfying conclusion.

There is a weight on my chest. I wonder if this is how she feels.

Felt.

The casket is no casket at all. It is a box. A large shipping crate. And I am grateful because the size is probably much larger than a normal casket should be, and thus the voice activated search I made on my cell phone while I was digging would be incorrect. It would take a little more than 2 hours for her to run out of air. She had been buried for longer than that.

I wedge the tip of the crowbar into an opening on the cover of the crate. My phone is buzzing. Buzzing. Buzzing.

I pry back the cover with enough force to fall back onto my ass. Peeling it back covers my line of site and I crawl awkwardly across the muddy ground, wet soil seeping into the knees of my suit, until I can see her down there.

There she is. Sitting up in the box because it is taller than it is wide. Her eyes are closed. She is clearly unconscious.

An inhuman sound escapes me. I think I've heard TC make that sound once, chasing a mouse. The thought comes with a strange detachment, as does the realization that there is the taste of salt on my lips. In all of the years I can remember, I have not shed a tear.

She is dead. She should have been dead before I started digging. It is a miracle she was even alive long enough to tell me she was buried.

And then I notice it. Her eyes are closed. But her phone display is still glowing.

It was her that was calling me. Calling me as she lost consciousness. Telling me to hurry.

I drop myself into the box, landing on my knees, straddling her hips, because there is no space here and I do not have the time to drag her out onto the soil.

"Olivia?" She is still a warm weight when I gather her into my arms, but she is tinged blue, covered in sweat, dirt and blood, and definitely, certainly not breathing.

Shit. No.

There isn't a lot of space here, but I tip her head back, trying to clear her airway. And I breathe air between her lips, imagine that I am breathing life into her, imagine that I can bring her back to me. One. Two. Three breaths.

Her gasp is loud enough to echo through the enclosed space, bouncing back into my ears from all directions.

I can't wrap my head around it. I was sure she was dead. She should be dead. Even this space is not big enough for the amount of time she was here.

I glance up. My gargoyle looms over us. Protection. Just like the stories the elders used to tell us growing up.

She struggles to regain her regular rhythm, coughing and sputtering on the new air. I watch her face. I just look at her. Because she is here when she should not be. And I have been granted a miracle.

"Oh God." She mutters between coughs. And then she is pushing out of my arms, pulling herself to her feet, climbing out of her tomb, in a flurry of movements. "Oh God, oh god, oh god."

I climb out after her and land beside her, both of us on our hands and knees on the soil. I am more exhausted than I have ever been. If this week has anything more in store for me, I am not sure I will hold up under the pressure.

She lets out a ragged sob. She is trying to say something, but she can't get it out, her breathing too labored. She still keeps trying.

I pull myself up so I am sitting in the puddle of mud. "It's okay. It's okay. Take a moment."

Her sobs stop. She turns her head towards me with a furious glare. The fire returns to those green eyes.

"I do not know why I said that." There is nothing in the world that could stop the stupid smile that is spreading across my face. Not only is Olivia alive, but I have made her angry at me once again. Which...well, it would not be our relationship if I couldn't accomplish that efficiently.

I expect her to yell. To complain. To continue our normal banter as though there was never an interruption.

Instead, she throws her arms around my neck. I pull her tightly against me, one hand tangling in her blonde curls, the other at the small of her back. I need her close.

"I tried to get out. I tried until I realized there was nowhere to go." I know. There are cuts and bruises all over her hands, and I can imagine her beating at the walls of her prison.

I surprise myself by pressing a kiss into her hair out of what seems to be instinct. "It's okay. I fixed it." How many times had I promised her I would fix a problem?

How many times had her mere presence been enough to fix mine?

I pull back and look at her. Tristan's message clicks into place with intense clarity.

As pawns, we have nothing. Absolutely nothing. And what material possessions we have do not matter. When there is real trouble on the horizon, money, power, objects, weapons - none of it helps. When there is real trouble looming, and we're cut off and alone, the only thing that has ever saved us is each other.

The idea of willingly relying on any other person in that way would have been unthinkable just yesterday. But Tristan opened my eyes. Everything has changed.

None of it makes me want to kill Tristan any less, but at least I am seeing things more clearly.

"I thought I lost you," I say.

"I thought I was gone." There is complete disbelief in her eyes.

My heart crashes into my ribs with every beat. Is this what dying feels like, or is this coming to life?

Most people, when they are children, they tell everyone that they love them. I love Rose. But I have never said the words. I have never felt compelled to because I already know she understands.

I need Olivia to know. She may not understand on her own. I am difficult to read. So I tell her. "I love you."

Her head tilts and the wondrous smile on her lips opens to a full blown grin. She looks like she did the day we took a ride in her father's Maserati. She runs a hand through my hair, then grimaces as her fingers come away muddy. We may need numerous showers. The smile melts away. "You came for me. Again."

"I'm sorry I did not discover your messages sooner."

She eyes me. "You mean all those desperate ego boosting rantings I left on your voicemail so you would like me again and pick up your goddamned phone were pointless? You didn't even hear them?"

Ego boosting? Which messages does she mean exactly? "I heard them, but only after I knew it was you who was in danger. Does this mean you don't think I'm a badass?" The joke sounds strained coming from me, because I am busy cycling through excuses for my earlier foolish admission.

She shakes her head. "No, you dug me out of the ground. You get to be a badass. Today." Her smile is weak.

I am a fool. She said what she said to get me to come save her. A shrewd method of persuasion, that ruthless survivalist showing through. But being on the receiving end of that survivalist mentality?

"It's totally understandable," I scramble for an answer. "You needed my assistance, so you told me what you needed to tell me to get me here and-"

"No, I didn't." She leans forward then, her eyes drifting closed, and she presses her lips to mine, softly, carefully, as though expecting me to pull away.

I do not pull away. Very much the opposite, in fact. After years of dispassionate interactions, a kiss like hers, so gentle and loving, thaws something within me, and I melt into the feeling, my arms pulling her closer, my lips meeting hers again and again, each kiss lingering longer. I pull back, pressing my forehead to hers, our noses brushing. She gives me one last tender kiss before completely pulling away because we both know that it is not wise for us to stay here.

Our eyes lock. I may never be a sympathetic man. I may always be the product of my experiences. But I can have this with her. I can love her. I can be loved by her.

My phone buzzes. Once. Twice.

I pull it from my pocket. It's Ricky. When I look up, I half expect her to be gone. Still in the box. Still dead.

But, no. I have evaded the death omens today, and Olivia smiles back at me with her eyebrows raised high on her head. "You're gonna get that?"

"I have to." I do not bother greeting Ricky. I know why he is calling. "I found her, Ricky."

Olivia's expression shifts into surprise.

"Is she…" I rarely feel bad for others. But I remember what it was like to be on Ricky's side of things. And, oddly, I can sympathize.

"She's alive."

"Thank God," he breathes. "….okay."

"We will head back to you now."

"Got it. I'll see you soon.

"We're going to Ricky's?" Olivia asks, once I've hung up. "Now? Can I at least get a shower first?"

I rise to my feet, hold out a hand, and pull her up with me. "We are going back home."

"To the condo?" She asks. I nod, pleased that she equates the condo to home. She wobbles a little on her feet and grabs onto me to steady herself, her fingers twisting in the fabric of the button-down shirt I had unbuttoned when I was digging. "Are you planning on letting him in on that? Because he'll wait up to-"

"He is at the condo."

Her eyes get absurdly large. "He's...at…"

"As is Rose." I wait a beat. "And James Morgan."

"What?"

"Long story. But we should get you home."

"What about the box and the...um...the hole in the ground?"

"We will let the elders figure that out. I am relatively certain they will not be calling the police."

She nods and her hands immediately jump to her head, fingers pressing to the temples as her eyes slam shut. "A little dizzy here. Must be the head wound."

I neglected to check it out before, but I do now. It is quite the lump on the back of her head and it split the skin. But she is mostly lucid and I do not want to drag her to the hospital.

"I'm okay," she says, when I suggest she should get it looked at. "Besides, it could just be the oxygen deprivation that's screwing with me. You'll be there to look after me tonight, right?"

I have to clear my throat to get the words out. "Yes, of course."

A slow, lazy smile. "How far is the car parked? If it's far, I may just sit here and wait for you to bring it around."

All she had to do was utter the words and adrenaline shot through my veins. "I am not letting you out of my sight without an entourage for a very, very, long time."

She huffs, then, very maturely, adopts my tone and mannerisms. "I was momentarily distracted by our argument and that distraction allowed the killer to get the drop on me. An error that will not recur."

It was intended to be funny, but my stomach twists. "You don't...blame me...for…"

"No." She pauses. Examines me. "There's a lot going on with you right now. Are you…" She hesitates. "Are you alright?"

"No." I look her in the eye. "I will be. For now…" I scoop her up in my arms, just like I did when she collapsed after that vision, just a few short weeks ago. "I will carry you to the car." She loops her arms around my neck, casually, like this is how we travel daily. "I was at my worst when you were buried in that box. I am already making a recovery." This is only a half-true statement.

She grunts in disbelief, and I know she doesn't believe a word.

When we make it to the car, she lays her head on my shoulder and she falls asleep. Unlike the first time this happened, I am not upset because I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. I am upset because I realize it already has.


	7. Rest and Regroup

"Olivia."

Her eyes slit open, slowly, and then she shoots upright in her seat, eyes darting around like mad, until they finally settle on me, kneeling by her side outside of the open car door.

She groans, her head flopping into her hands. "Hello."

"Hello."

"Before you ask, I feel like I've faced off with a semi-automatic and lost."

"Not much better myself." I hold out my hand to her. "Come on. Our house guests await." I try not to spit the words out, but I am feeling more and more reluctant to face people at the moment. What I want to do is assure myself of Olivia's safety, take a long shower, and sleep for a very long time.

She doesn't speak as I guide her into the building. Not until the elevator. "What are you dreading? What in particular?"

Damn. She is good at that.

"I may have...tipped my hand. About my feelings for you. Before I left."

"Tipped your hand?"

The words blurt out. "I colorfully threatened James Morgan. It was...impassioned."

"Whoa...watch out there. Somebody is going to think you feel something." She grins, then her face falls. "I keep saying things to lighten the mood that you probably don't find humorous. And when I think about it, I've been doing it for weeks."

"I take no offense," I say. "I have cultivated an image of myself that you are commenting on, but I believe you know me better than to believe I remain unaffected."

"Yeah, but do you wish you could?" I glance over at her, and she is wringing her hands, her eyes focused somewhere in the lower corner of the elevator base.

She is unsure. About us. Which is insanity, since I spent all this time believing she held all the cards.

I watch her fidget, panic rising in my chest and I make a decision. There are sides to me that she hasn't been privy to, sides that I purposely mute to create a certain image, things that run through my mind that she would never think to associate with me. And if I want her to know me, I will have to give her a preview.

I steal her hand the way I stole that scone away the first time I met her - before she knows what is happening, I have it. I pull her against me, my other hand plunging into her hair and I capture her mouth in a heated kiss that draws a moan from her that makes me want to stop the elevator dead in its tracks. But I don't. When I pull back, I reluctantly glance at the red floor numbers as they tick upwards. 51, 52, 53…

My gaze slides to hers. "I believe you understand my position, now."

54…

She smiles. "Back on terra firma. Thanks. I wasn't sure…"

And 55. The elevator dings and the door opens. "Be sure. I do not make decisions unless I am certain of the outcome."

"And you're certain of the outcome with me?" She asks.

"I know what I want." And the sentence hangs there, swinging. But we don't have time for the rest of the conversation because the door to my condo is already opening, Ricky bounding out and pulling Olivia into an ecstatic hug.

I ignore the scene because I can do nothing else about it. That is a conversation for Olivia to have.

I step around them.

"Gabriel?" Rose gasps. "What on Earth…you look like you rolled around in a mud puddle."

I step past her. James Morgan is sitting on my couch, arms tied behind him, looking very pissed off. That is, until I come into view.

And that's when the fury builds.

It's not just Morgan, although he is enough of a shitstain to raise my ire all on his own. It is everything. It is Tristan, it is Patrick, it is Seanna, it is the personal attacks, it is the decline of my business, it is the news articles digging up a past I would rather avoid thinking about, it is Olivia discovering secrets that should have never been kept from her to begin with, it is the fact that the only man I come close to considering a friend is in love with the woman I love, it is my distrust of Rose's motivations, it is the emotional detachment that has Olivia concerned about how I feel, it is the way I pride myself on maintaining my image and I have become a disheveled disaster, it is the fact that I almost lost her, that I still could lose her. That even when we are out of immediate danger, I could lose her just because I am weak with demons I cannot fathom confronting.

All it takes is one slight, smarmy, smile from Morgan, and it all breaks.

I grab his shirt collar and pull him to his feet. "Do you know what you helped accomplish? She was buried. SHE WAS BURIED. In a box. In the ground. She was DEAD. Not breathing. I had to resuscitate her. Now, let me make this clear. You are going to provide me with whatever information you have on Tristan immediately, and if you give me nothing, I will put you in the box he put her in, and I will bury you in the ground and I swear to you, the police will never connect me to the crime."

"Is this what you referred to as...impassioned?" Olivia.

I glance over my shoulder. "No. This is really pissed off."

"Got it." She frowns.

I believe I've upset her. I have to trust that we will work through it later. I return my attention to the weasel. "Anything come to mind, Mr. Morgan?"

"He said his name was Tristan Crouch. He worked for a place called The Belarus Group. He said he was looking to further my political reach." He rattles off an address.

Rose jots the information down on a nearby pad. Olivia types something into her phone.

"I try Googling those words and the only thing I get is a myth with, surprise, Welsh origins," Olivia says. Her shoulders droop and it's clear she recognizes it. "Tristan and Isolde."

Rose sighs. "Though there are many complications in the tale that don't seem to apply, at the core, it involves a love triangle with a woman at the center. One of the men is a King, the other a loyal friend." She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at us.

Damn. If possible, my anger ratchets up a notch. Still, I release Morgan from my grip.

"I'm not touching that." Ricky says.

"You don't know the half of it," Olivia says.

"Actually, I do." He pushes a hand through his hair. "Rose...uh...Rose filled me in."

There is murder in Olivia's eyes when they settle on Rose.

"I was intending to talk to him when I returned," I cut in. "It was time to bring him in on everything that has been happening. And…" It clicks. "You know? About Gwynn and Arawn and myself and Ricky? Since when?"

"Since when have you known?" She asks, defensive.

"Patrick told me." The words have bite as I relive the conversation. My father told me.

She nods and takes a deep breath. "I figured it out based on some things Tristan said before he buried me. I had theories before that, but...there were things standing in the way of me fully interpreting...and do you really want to have this conversation right now?"

I probably do not. I dip my chin in acknowledgement. I am at a loss. I am confused and tired and furious. I am not myself. Off my game. And I hate it.

Olivia's rests her hand on my arm and quietly mutters, "Take a moment." She barely gets the words out before she grins.

I should be offended. She is making fun of me. But instead, the teasing lightens the weight in my chest.

"Olivia, can I have a word?" I nod my head towards the bedroom.

She frowns. "Sure. Rose, Ricky, can you keep an eye on...wait a minute! Why is James even here? How did you know he knew Tristan?"

"He paid the guy who dropped Gabe, over here."

My hackles rise. Gabe. I dislike that nickname. Ricky knows that, so the jab was intentional. The set of his jaw, the tension in his stance, all say one thing. He's frustrated with me.

Olivia's wheels turn slower than normal. When the information falls into place, she reaches for the gun in her waistband, and her hand closes around empty air. "Shit. Tristan took my gun. I need to get that replaced."

"No time soon, please," Morgan says. "Brains are difficult to get out of the upholstery. And bullets generally make it difficult to feign an accident." He shakes his head. "I'm worried, Liv. You have fallen in with thugs and liars, and if you can't see the danger you're in, I will have to continue to point it out to you."

"If you ever come at Gabriel again, I'll…" Her hands shoot up to her head, a groan tearing from her throat.

"Olivia?" I take her by her arms and steer her into the bedroom and away from the stressors. "You need to lie down."

"I need a shower."

"I am concerned you will collapse if you are in there alone."

"Are you suggesting that you join me?"

For a moment, I am speechless. I am immediately annoyed with myself for that. "Not this time."

"So, you're suggesting that, at another time, you will take a shower with-"

"I need to speak with Ricky."

"No you don't."

"Somebody does."

"We broke up."

"I know. But we should discuss this with him before we pursue it." I motion between the two of us.

"Get his blessing?" Olivia squeaks. "I know we're reincarnations of Fae or whatever the hell we are, but we do not live in those times, you are not an actual Faerie King, and I do not need the permission of one man to be with another."

"I am not suggesting we obtain permission. I am suggesting we warn him."

She blinks. Once. Twice. "No need. He already has an idea."

My eyebrows raise.

"He figured it out. During our argument about him showing up here."

I nod. Process. "That only increases the necessity of the conversation. Rose?"

Rose is in the room so fast, it is clear she was in close proximity. The wolfish grin she wears is an even larger indication. "Yes, Gabriel?"

"She needs a shower and some assistance sanitizing her wounds. Would you be able to aid her in that regard? She is experiencing dizziness and I have some concerns about leaving her alone."

"Of course."

"Gabriel." Olivia looks worried. "What are you going to say?" Rose grabs her by her arms and pulls her towards the bathroom and poor Olivia is too beat up to fight back. "Gabriel!" The door slams between us.

I am somewhat offended that she expects me to handle this in a tactless manner.

"Ricky?" I jerk my head in the direction of the kitchen. We can speak there and still keep an eye on Morgan. He follows me, his hands in his pockets, extreme discomfort coming from him in waves.

If he was any other person, I would take what was rightfully given to me, and not even question it, not bother discussing it. Olivia's choice was her choice. But Ricky is the closest thing besides Olivia and Rose that I have ever had to a friend, and I feel… "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Ricky huffs a laugh. "You saved Liv's life! Why are you sorry?" It is an act. I don't dignify it with an answer. There is a moment of uncomfortable silence before Ricky breathes out a long sigh. "She's a free agent."

"You asked me if I had any intentions. I told you no."

"Were you lying?"

"No. In the beginning, I couldn't imagine...but I should have discussed it with you once I realized…"

"How would that have gone, Gabriel? I mean, how exactly would you have negotiated that discussion? 'Hey man. I know I told you I didn't have a thing for Liv, but now that I've discovered you've hooked up, I'm a little uncomfortable about it. Actually, I'm pretty pissed off, so could you cut it out? I want to see if I have a chance.'"

He is right. The very idea of addressing it that way sounds ridiculous. Instead of admitting that, however, I say, "That doesn't sound like me at all."

He laughs. His shoulders lose a little bit of that tension. "You fell in love. I imagine that's a minor miracle for you, so I'm gonna let it slide. That's not to say I'm happy about it. Just that I...get it. She's an amazing woman. It figures that you would only chose the best. And while I care very deeply for her, I'm guessing what you feel for Olivia would have to be some world ending stuff for it to be enough to break through that ridiculously tough shell. Besides, it's not like I had the option. When she broke up with me, she told me the truth. She didn't think it was fair to be with me when she felt more strongly for somebody else. And she was right about that."

"If she had chosen you, I would have endured it without issue," I say. But even I have my doubts.

"For how long?" Ricky says. "You would have tried and then you would have found a way to push us out of your life so nobody could accuse you of losing something. You don't play if you really think you'll lose. Everybody knows that."

Again, I feel that flicker of annoyance that comes with someone knowing me better than I believe they should.

It bothers me less and less every time.

Ricky is correct. Something is cracking through my shell. I am not sure I enjoy the sensation, but it appears to be happening without my permission. I am faced with a choice. I can either grab at the edges and hold the shell over me out of sheer panic, or I can just let it fall away.

He seems to sense my discomfort. "Look, it doesn't matter anyway. The choice was made by the only person who could make it. We deal with the consequences of that like mature adults, or we're that guy." He waves a dismissive hand in Morgan's direction. "And nobody wants to be that guy."

I nod in agreement and let Ricky's point of view roll around in my mind for a few, quiet moments before I add, "I would have been able to handle it, Ricky. Not easily, but...I would have dealt with it and remained present in my usual capacity. If I was going to distance myself, I would have already done so."

"Cool." Ricky's sole reply. I am not entirely convinced that he believes me. But thankfully, I will not have to prove it.

We wait another moment before Olivia exits the bathroom, Rose trailing behind her. Olivia looks fresh, but her eyes reveal that she is still a little bleary. She is wearing nothing but her usual long t-shirt that hovers around mid-thigh. I try not to think about the fact that I am the only man in this room that has not slept with her. Try and fail. That would be easier to cope with when it was just Ricky, and Morgan was a spot on a distant memory.

"Ricky," she says. She steps in close to the two of us, then waves for Rose to follow her and the four of us huddle. "Could we find a way to leak the information about James and his involvement with what happened to Gabriel?"

"What are we talking? Police involvement? Media?" Ricky asked.

"I want to make sure Gabriel is cleared of any wrongdoing. Whatever you need to do to spread the word, go ahead." She glances at me. "I was through defending him when he had you arrested. Now I'm officially through protecting him. He did something insane. He needs to suffer for it."

"It will be brutal," I say. "You and I will be in the spotlight."

"We can handle it." She says. "Right?"

I smile. "As you wish, Olivia. Ricky, would you be able to take Morgan home and then return? I will shower and then, if you wish to come, we can investigate the lead on Tristan."

"I'll take Morgan home, but I am not coming back to investigate Tristan."

That gives me pause. I would have expected him to jump at the opportunity. "Alright. If you do not wish to accompany me, I -"

"He's saying you're not going anywhere," Rose says. "I'm inclined to agree."

"As am I," Olivia adds. "You're muddy, bloody, and tired. You need to rest. You do not need to follow another lead."

I want to argue. But I do not really want to argue. The idea of sleep nearly has me swaying on my feet. But… "I admit that I am somewhat exhausted, but that will not…"

"Humans need sleep," Olivia cuts in. "It may not impede you but it should. You need rest. And frankly, I need rest. And you are not doing this without me. So, let's go right now! You can drag me along because you are not walking out of this door without me."

"I could," I say. "If I wanted to, you couldn't stop me." I do not know why I am arguing this.

She lifts her chin in a challenge. "Wanna take bets on that?" There is a flash of anger in her eyes that tells me I am about to ruin this relationship before it even grows legs. "Gabriel, this is about all three of us, and if you think I'm about to let the men handle the heavy lifting-"

"I only wish to keep you safe."

"You only wish to keep me out of it," she says. "Even if we handle Tristan, I am probably far from safe."

Our eyes meet. We are both angry, we are both charged up, and we are both scared. As little as either of us wish to admit it.

I am the first to back down. I dip my chin to acknowledge my error. "We will meet up in the afternoon, Ricky?"

"You got it."

Ricky gathers Morgan and meets up with Rose by the door, and then they are making their exit, Morgan asking, "That's it? Where are you taking me? What are you going to do with me?" all the way into the elevator.

As soon as they are out of sight, I close the door behind me, bolt it shut, and lean against it, like I am afraid that something might break through if I am not holding it closed.

Perhaps I am.

I drop my head back against the door, my eyes slammed shut, pulling in attempt after attempt at a calming breath.

When I finally open my eyes, Olivia is standing in front of me, watching me. "I don't know how to handle things like this with you," she admits. "If you were anyone else, I'd try to comfort you."

"We can try that next time when I'm not covered in mud." Her concern is touching. Genuinely.

"Go shower. I'm gonna go to sleep."

I step forward. Lean towards her a little. "Take the bed. You need the rest more." I stroll off towards the bathroom. "And Olivia?"

She looks up.

"Nobody has ever seen me lose my cool that way." I wonder if I will need to say more.

She smiles, and I know I do not.

Showering has not felt this good since my days on the street, when finding shelter with running water was rare, and on a bad summer month, when I wasn't in school and didn't need to hide from the administration, I would go days without. I work to get the grime off, to clean out the wounds on my hands from wielding the shovel. I spend far longer there than I normally would, but I abhor filth, and soap and water are like a balm to my soul.

When I emerge, I find Olivia spread out across my bed on her stomach, cuddling with my pillow. If she was not asleep, I would be reconsidering my exhaustion.

I lay my hand on her shoulder, giving her a small shake. "Olivia. Olivia...I'm supposed to wake you every hour."

She stirs. Groans. "I'm fine."

I question her. Name, date, events of the day. She answers them all in an angry murmur that makes me smile.

Temperamental and stubborn. It figures I would fall in love with someone who would challenge me. Nothing is ever simple. But then, this supposedly magical force, stronger than all other things, would have never gotten me to listen if it was.

I get up to leave, shaking my head. I stop myself halfway up and think better of leaving as I always would. Instead, I take advantage of my new place in her life and press a soft kiss to her forehead earning a breathy sigh in response.

I rise and move for the couch.

"Gabriel?" She waits for me to turn back towards her. "Stay."

My heart clenches. "Stay? Um...I don't think that's wise, Olivia. You truly need to-"

"Sleep. In the bed. Nothing else. Just sleep. Here. With me."

I snort. "I won't be able to..." I trail off. "Of course." Even if I do not sleep for a moment tonight, if she needs me next to her to help her sleep after what she has endured, I will remain beside her.

I lie down and she uses me as a cushion, pillowing her head on my chest, throwing an arm across my waist.

For a second, I am desperately uncomfortable. My muscles coil until I'm as rigid as a tree trunk. I do not do this level of contact. Not for these reasons. Sex would have been easier.

But after a second, I settle into it. I allow myself to sink into the mattress, wrap my arms around her, pull her even closer to me until her legs tangle with mine, and my heart finally begins to slow from the manic rate it has been running at since I woke up.

I fall asleep moments later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next chapter is the last one!


	8. Grounded

I am sitting ramrod straight in bed, gasping for breath, my heartbeat fluttering in my throat, before I even realize I am awake.

My head drops forward at the realization that I am safe within my sanctuary.

"Gabriel?"

My name on her lips startles me enough that I actually shout a curse.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Gabriel." Olivia's voice is breathy too, and I quickly understand that I was not the only one who was jolted from sleep.

I shake my head. "What happened?"

"I had a nightmare. Woke up and there you were, breathing like you were running a race."

My nod, admittedly, is a little jerky. "What was it about? Yours?"

She winces and I immediately regret asking. "I was trapped in a box. I tried to get out and I couldn't. So...basically...yesterday. Without the rescue."

I snort a completely inappropriate laugh because I am beginning to believe in things I have never believed in. Like the idea that the universe has a sense of humor. "I kept digging. But I never found you."

She looks at me with shock in her eyes. "The same dream?"

I shrug. "Or we have just endured a similar trauma and…"

For a moment, we just stare at each other. She reaches forward, presses her hand to my chest. I know what she feels there. My shirt shakes from the violence of each beat.

Her eyes grow wide and I watch her realize. I watch her understand. Just how strongly I feel. Just how much I need her.

Her fingers wrap in the fabric of my t-shirt and pull me towards her. Our lips crash together and I kiss her with everything I have felt, with all the time I have been holding back from her. I lose the nightmare in that kiss, I let it go. I bury my fears in the taste of her lips, the feeling of her skin beneath my fingertips, the warmth of her surrounding me, the rhythm of her body moving beneath mine. I lose myself in her, ground myself in my connection to her, and when we finally separate, I am lighter, I am better. I am stronger.

I fall asleep holding her, and when I wake up, I am peaceful, rested.

And for the first time ever, somebody is cooking me breakfast in my kitchen.

As quietly as I can, I pull on my boxers and peek into the room. She is standing over the stove, frying eggs. She stops for a moment to reach over the stove for seasoning. She is wearing nothing but a t-shirt and it rides up her thighs.

"Enjoying the show?" She asks.

I have been caught. No use in lying about it. "Yes." I scratch the back of my head, try not to feel embarrassed.

"Good." She smirks. "This is okay, right? Breakfast."

"Of course. You need to eat. Keep your strength up."

"Unlike you, of course, who does not require sustenance."

"I suppose I could eat as well." I wrap my arms around her waist, nuzzle her neck, want to start our middle-of-the-night rendezvous all over again.

"Food, Gabriel." She reprimands, but her hand hooks my neck and drags me down into a fiery kiss. "I meant food." She speaks against my lips. "Not that I'm objecting to anything else." She leans back into me, then shakes it off. "I'm going to burn the bacon. Stop distracting me."

"Hmmm, shame on me." I step away from her and begin to make coffee for the two of us.

"We have to eat before Ricky gets here, so we can go for our date with Tristan. But before we do that, I'd like to talk to you about something." She prepares two plates, each with eggs, bacon and pancakes. I could get used to this.

Wait. I could really get used to this.

All of this.

The sex, the breakfast, the companionship, the love.

We sit beside each other on stools at the counter, and she doesn't speak until she's about halfway through her plate. "I'm not really sure how to address this."

Now she is making me nervous. "Just speak your mind, Olivia." I wince at my tone.

"I was wondering...if maybe...tomorrow, I should...go look for an apartment," she says.

My stomach drops. Everything I gain slips through my fingers. "You want to leave."

"Not you, Gabriel. I don't want to leave you."

"No, of course not. You just want to look for an apartment." I am trying very hard to sound reasonable. But everyone walks away. Everyone leaves.

She places a hand over mine. "You let me stay here as a favor, not permanently. We only just started moving in this direction and living together might be a lot. I don't know if, by assuming you want me to live here, I'm going to overstay my welcome. I know how you are about having your own space and I didn't-"

"Stay." Then I hear what I am saying. "If you wish to, you should stay."

She chews on a piece of bacon, thoughtfully. "In the elevator yesterday you said you know what you want. What would that be? And don't give me a lawyer answer. Tell me where you see this going."

I think about what Ricky said, that I don't play unless I know I am going to win, I think about what Tristan wanted me to understand, about how we only have each other to rely on. I need to take a real risk. For her.

I take a heaping forkful of pancakes, give myself the time it takes for me to chew to get past the crushing feeling in my chest.

I cannot look at her when I start speaking. Instead, I poke my fork at my food, like its origins are a great mystery. "Before we met, I did not want to work with anyone else. I did not know how to work with anyone else. But you were competent and intelligent and I discovered you would make a good partner. Not only that, but you were a challenge. You made me think. You made me question things I had long considered permanent truths in my life. You made me see things I did not wish to see. I do not care about people, Olivia. I do not take risks for people. You have changed that. It started with work and it has moved far beyond that. So, if you would like to know what I want, the answer is the same as it was when I realized we could work together. I want a partner, Olivia." My throat has gone dry. I swallow hard.

"That...sounds...suspiciously...like...a...proposal…" She says, slowly.

My heart seizes. She is going to leave. I try for a joke. "Well, I would suggest you have the family lawyer draw up a prenuptial agreement. That way, we never have to handle any questions from Mrs. Taylor-Jones about me desiring your trust fund." It is only half of a joke.

"You're serious?" She looks terrified.

I suppose it is better she knows now. If she is going to reject me, she can do it before I am in any deeper. As if I am not in deeply enough already…

"I told you that I knew what I wanted. I felt you should know because I am aware that when it comes to forward momentum, you would expect me to propel myself forward more slowly than you, but once I am decided, I am decided. I do not expect you to want the same things right now. I just ask that you consider the possibility, at some point."

She smiles sadly. Shakes her head. I prepare myself for the worst. "I love you."

I look up, surprised.

"Sounds great." She climbs onto my lap, straddling my hips, her arms wrapping around my neck. "Let's do it."

Before long, breakfast is forgotten.

This is the first time I have left my house in the middle of the day since coming home from the hospital. I cannot find my sunglasses and I grumble about it to Olivia as we make our way to the car.

"They broke when your head got smashed." She declares, not without sympathy.

We nod to Ricky, who is already on his running bike, waiting to follow us to the location Morgan supplied.

I am annoyed. I am squinting in the sunlight. Those shades were not cheap. I am going to find a way to make Morgan supply me with new ones.

"If you can't see, I'll drive," she says. "It's a sacrifice, but I do what I can to help."

I shake my head and walk around to the passenger side. When I climb into the car, though, something is waiting in the seat. A case. For glasses.

"I got you a little present." Olivia smiles and it is radiant.

I open the case and try on my new set. They are perfect. When I tell her, I want to add that she is as well, but that feels like too much. I am not quite there yet. Declarations of love are hard enough. Mushy sentiments are still far from me.

I hope that she can handle that. I hope that she understands that it says nothing about her. I just haven't quite exhumed myself from my past.

But I am getting there.

The drive over is short and quiet, but there is a comfortable silence, and it is not like our normal drives because that silence is not filled with us wondering what the other is thinking, or all of the things we wish we could say to each other. Most of that has been said. Instead, we get a silence filled with smiles exchanged when she picks up speed.

We are interrupted only by the slew of sudden emails that keep my phone buzzing. I do not say anything to Olivia, but it appears news about Morgan's misdeeds has publically broken. Clients are returning en masse with their tails between their legs. It is a very good feeling, to be absolved of such a disgusting habit. To be absolved of this similarity to Seanna.

And then we arrive. Or rather, we are close enough. We park a short walk away so we are not obvious and head for the building. As we walk, Ricky brings up the one thing that has been silently floating around my head since the night before.

"So," he asks, "what do we do about this potential war?"

"We refuse to play," Olivia says. "If the Tylwyth Teg and the Cwn Annwn insist on pitting us against each other, we do our best not to give in. They can't make us fight."

"That is not entirely realistic," I say. "They can make us fight. You have your mother. Your biological parents. Ricky has an entire family and the bike club. I have Rose. If they want to make us fight, they will all come under threat."

"So we stay in contact," Ricky adds. "We try to help each other maintain the safety of those we care about. We stay alert."

"Work together and hope nobody figures out which buttons to push," I say. "However, they most likely will."

Ricky looks regretful. "We hope we can find a way out of it."

I grunt an acknowledgment.

With a terse nod, Ricky heads in to go play pretend messenger to the Belarus Group. And while he flirts with the receptionist at the security desk, Olivia and I walk in through the side entrance of the building and up through the staircase like we have always belonged there.

Once we are in the stairwell, Olivia asks, "Why do you seem so hopeless? We've already beaten destiny once?" I frown at her. "You know - I was supposed to choose Ricky. The legend says I leave Gwynn for Arawn and that hasn't happened."

"Yet," I grumble and then I look up in shock. I had not even heard the thought in my mind before the word slipped through my lips on a breath.

Shit.

"Yet?" She glares at me.

Her phone buzzes. It is Ricky, as expected. She answers and turns on the speaker.

"Hey boss," he greets. "It seems you got the address wrong. Belarus was on the fifth floor, but they cleared out. Friday was their last day at this office location. The receptionist is trying to give me a forwarding address, but she isn't finding one in her records."

"Got it," Olivia says, and we make our way to the fifth floor without another word about my slip.

But when we arrive on the fifth floor, and I pick my way through the lock on the staircase door, there is nothing there. The Belarus Group, any and all signs of it, are gone, as, I suppose, is Tristan for the time being. We search the office for thirty minutes and find nothing, not even a scrap of paper, to prove they had ever been there.

"Yet?!" Olivia asks again, the minute we are out of the building and heading back to our meeting point with Ricky.

I wince. I had been hoping she had forgotten it amid the disappointment of our discovery. "I'm sorry. I did not mean-"

"Yes you did. Don't lie." She stops walking in the middle of the sidewalk, while Ricky watches from our assigned meeting place by the fountain a block down from the Belarus building.

I turn to face her. "I have...concerns."

"Fear," she challenges. "You have fear. And an awful lot of it."

I want to push back. I want to walk away. But this is Olivia. If it was anybody else, I might just storm away, but not her. I am in too deep to run away now.

I do not acknowledge that she is correct, but I do not fight her either. And I suppose that is enough.

"Gabriel, I am not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to." She says. "However, if you feel the need to push me out the door with 'yet', I'd be happy to comply. And if you are not ready to handle somebody who will stick around? Let me know."

She rushes forward, towards Ricky, and once again, I am left lagging behind.

"So," Ricky asks. "He cleaned out. What now? How do we find the little bastard?"

"I do not believe we will need to," I say. "Since he began his involvement in our lives, it has only escalated. I would expect him to show his face sooner than later."

We walk to our parked vehicles.

"You don't think this is over?" Olivia asks. "He hasn't been scared away?"

"By what, exactly? Which one of us being knocked out frightened him out of his wits?" I ask.

She makes a face. "I was thinking more along the lines of him running away from the retaliation we would obviously plan after something like this."

"No, I believe he left because he accomplished whatever he set out to do."

Olivia nods. "He knows he's put us on the offensive. Now he's going to step back for a moment until he feels we've let our guard down."

"So we don't let him have that," Ricky says. "We stay vigilant."

I am about to agree when I hear calls from afar. "Ms. Taylor-Jones! Ms. Jones!"

I purse my lips and slide my shades off. "And here comes the media. Ricky, make yourself scarce. Your presence will only add complication to the tale. We will call."

Ricky nods abruptly and turns off at the next street corner as though he was never walking with us. At this point, the reporters are much closer.

I should not be this excited about a run-in with the media. However, all of this emotional confusion I have experienced over the past few days has been unsettling. This? This is where I am sure-footed.

"Allow me to do the talking, Olivia. News of your ex-fiance's indiscretion is spreading and it is important that we handle this correctly on the outset." I sound like myself again. And it feels incredible.

"Do your thing, Gabriel." Her anger seems to melt away. She smiles, and I swear she can tell what I am feeling.

"Good afternoon," I call the attention of the reporters. "I will be making a statement on behalf of Ms. Taylor-Jones. It has recently come to my attention that Mr. James Morgan has been taken into custody in connection with the crimes recently perpetrated against me. As you all know, this is a very difficult time for Ms. Jones. She has been struggling with the revelation of her true parentage and has been targeted because of this. However, when she chose to fade from the spotlight and take a step back from Mr. Morgan, he did not take the issue lightly. He has pushed to continue seeing her despite her refusals, and after speaking to him several times about distancing himself from Ms. Jones, Morgan's reaction was to allegedly aim his attacks at myself instead. I am concerned for Ms. Jones in light of these unspeakable events, which I feel put her at risk of physical danger by Mr. Morgan. At this time, to ease the traumatic nature of these occurrences and as a recompense for mishandling the discovery of my injury earlier this week, I ask that the media kindly give her the space to cope with the steady stream of negative experiences that she has recently endured. Thank you."

I turn on my heel and walk towards the car, my hand on the small of her back guiding Olivia along beside me. As I walk, I put my sunglasses on and struggle not to smile at my performance. It is good to be back.

Olivia is quiet on the car ride home. It isn't until we are upstairs and in the condo that she says what has clearly been on her mind. "Perhaps I should get an apartment. Not to live in. Just to have. In case."

I was feeling better, wasn't I? The general uneasiness of the week returns in a flash.

"In case?"

"In case someone starts to look into the fact that you're screwing a co-worker. Or your client's daughter. Not for the reason you would like to believe, which is, 'in case I want to run away from Gabriel screaming'."

"This is not a joke." I hate that I sound petulant. I ignore the fact that she has a point. My personal relationships have never been under scrutiny. I have never needed to think this way before.

"Is it serious?" She asks. "Do you seriously believe I'm going to leave you? Because that is a problem."

I am so frustrated. I have been for the last few days. "I hate that I do not know how to handle this."

Her expression softens. "The truth helps."

"The truth is...humiliating."

She sighs. "If you can't be yourself around me by this point…"

My shoulders droop. "You are right. It is not reasonable. It is not logical. It is blind fear."

She nods. Swallows. "What are you afraid of?"

"I have built a life for myself out of nothing. It is a good one, getting increasingly better. And I am constantly afraid of losing it."

Her smile is sad now. "Your clients are coming back. Your financial security has returned."

"I am unsure which side Rose is on. If Cainsville and the Tylwyth Teg ask, whose side will she fall on?"

"Yours. Always yours. As will I."

I do not look convinced. At least not to her.

She walks to where I am standing, by the window with the incredible view I so desperately wanted her to see. She reaches up and takes my face in her hands. "You are infuriating. Do you understand that? After all of the opportunities and excuses you have given me to walk away, do you really think I am going anywhere? Wouldn't I have left by now?"

"I know."

"But still..."

"Exactly."

"Just like you know you aren't going to be starving any time soon. But you still keep those cans?"

My heart is racing. I know what is coming. I do not know if I am grateful or very angry.

"We should face your fears. We should eat the beef stew." When I do not answer, she continues. "Eat the beef stew. Drink the soda. Get rid of the things you don't need but you're grasping onto."

"And what about the things I do need?"

That steals all of the fire from her gaze and she melts against me, her arms wrapping around my neck, her body contouring to mine. "Maybe you let them hold onto you instead?"

The kiss that follows ends the conversation for a long time. Still, when she gets up to make us dinner, I know what she is going for and I find I don't mind as much as I had believed I would.

Tristan showed me that when the chips were down, we were the only thing we had. And Olivia has consistently proven that she is here and she always will be.

Perhaps I am still afraid to let go. But when we are sitting, naked on my bed, eating beef stew and drinking Coke and essentially telling my childhood to fuck off, when Olivia is sitting cozily with her back against my chest, I do not feel that fear.

And I know that things are unresolved. I know that Tristan might come at us again, or the Tylwyth Teg or the Cwn Annwn. And I know that Morgan could prove his innocence somehow and commence annoying us again. And I know that Ricky might not be able to maintain his peaceful tolerance of our relationship, or might be swayed by his family to choose against us. And I know that Rose might decide that the elders have given her a comfortable life and she cannot give that up simply because we have chosen to flout the expectations of those who created us.

Most importantly, I know that a war is coming and we are at the center of it.

But I am happy. Olivia is here with me. My life almost fell apart in front of me and here it is, intact.

So, although I know these bad things may very well be on the horizon, I bury them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks. I hope you enjoyed!


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